


the dangers of the laundry room

by ishippeditovernight (sonofabitch_awesome)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Eileen Leahy, Bottom Castiel, Domestic Fluff, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sam Winchester Walks in on Castiel/Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, pray for sammy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/ishippeditovernight
Summary: *in Goosebumps books title font* Stay out of the laundry room!*wiggles fingers dramatically*-psa: I wrote Sam/Eileen in this, and I ship them, but those looking for aprimarilySam/Eileen fic may wanna sail past this one cause it's like 80% DeanCas. Just a heads-up ♥





	the dangers of the laundry room

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a little tumblr post that was more on the edge of "cute fluff laundry scene" side, so I somehow turned it porny *laughs*  
> What the hell, I don't write porn as often, so why not!
> 
> [Post here](https://bend-me-shape-me.tumblr.com/post/177022445199/oh-the-domestic-glory-of-imagining-dean-and-cas)

In hindsight, Sam _really_ should have taken notice of the time. There was no way it should have taken more than five minutes, maybe a few more at the most, to throw in a couple loads of laundry. Even allowing for Cas's confusion at yet another domestic task (one of a generous handful since he'd given up his grace and powers, choosing to remain on Earth as a human).

Yeah.

It was the “not thinking of checking the time” thing that was his downfall.

At any rate, he'd been in the kitchen with Eileen, enjoying a nice evening, signing quietly with her – her patiently teasing him when he got it wrong and correcting him lovingly – as they had dinner. Everything was going well, until Oscar, their German shepherd/pit bull mix, had come in.

Oscar was a good boy, mostly trained, but he did get excited and jumpy occasionally. So when they greeted him with “Hey boy!”s and “How you been?”s, he hopped right for Sam's knees, his tan ears flopping in joy as he bounded forward.

Sam _did_ see it coming, and tried to scootch his chair away from the table just before Oscar jumped for him, but it wasn't quite enough. Oscar's stocky frame bumped up against the table as he propped his paws up on Sam's knees, and the glasses of wine wobbled, considered their destinations for a moment or two, and tumbled.

As the wine spread across the table, Eileen quickly grabbed their napkins and sopped at the spreading darkness. “Damn,” she murmured, but without annoyance. “Oh well, we knew it was going too well tonight, huh?”

Sam was gently shooing Oscar away from the food so he could grab a couple extra dish cloths. He looked down at his shirt, where he'd taken some of the wine's splashing. “I've had worse ends to dates, trust me,” he grinned, then scrubbed at his shirt. “This is nothing.”

“Change your shirt before that sets,” Eileen said. She wrung out the soaked napkins and dish towels in the sink, then washed her hands. “Toss these in the laundry room. Then we'll get back to it. Oscar included. But maybe without the wine.” She winked.

God, he loved her. Nothing ever phased her. Sure, this hardly counted as a blip in the radar compared to their typical date interruptions, but still—cool as a cucumber.

She was just amazing. He'd dated some people in the past who didn't even _like_ dogs, for example.

Still smiling to himself, he wandered down the hall to his bedroom, leaving the pile of napkins on a side table while he changed his shirt. Retrieved the dirty one and the napkins, and headed for the laundry room.

It never once occurred to him to wonder why they hadn't heard from Dean or Cas all evening until he suddenly realized exactly _why_ they hadn't.

_Goddammit, guys._

He exhaled in one short, heavy breath and closed his eyes, freezing in the door frame. Fucking hell, _again_? Third time this week.

He shook his head, eyes still shut, and dropped the dirty dish towels and his shirt in a pile next to the door before turning and walking right out again.

 _Cas_ , at least, would see it there and feel bad enough to get it started for him later.

-

They'd meant well.

Oh man, they'd meant well, _really_.

But Cas had to be so... so...

“ _Cas_...” Dean breathed the name into his neck, traced it with his lips, felt it pulse through every one of his veins. He clutched Cas closer, felt the glorious slipslide of their chests against each other amid the sweat.

They'd been in here too long.

It had started with chores, surprisingly. Earlier that morning when they'd gotten up, Cas had made a comment about washing the sheets later, and Dean had concurred, saying they must have been on similar wavelengths because he was thinking about washing Baby too.

So between that and the fact that grocery shopping _also_ needed to get done at some point, he figured it would just be an uneventful day off. Get chores done, whatever.

And that would have been exactly how things would have gone if Cas hadn't kept ...well... _distracting_ him all damn day.

Dean groaned as Cas's hands slipped lower, grasped onto his ass, pulled him impossibly closer to the table where Cas was propped up on. Bare feet hooked around the backs of Dean's calves, possessive and greedy, irresistibly desperate... Just one of the many ways Dean loved seeing Cas.

“Too—many—clothes,” Cas managed to mutter in annoyance between kisses, hands fumbling between them. His fingers bumped up against Dean's as they both realized they were trying to undo his jeans. It wasn't working; they were only getting in each other's way.

They laughed. Cas let go, and Dean stepped back, making short work of his fly and stepping out of his jeans while Cas wiggled out of his own, kicking them off from his perch on the table.

It was bad enough at the store, when Cas kept being annoyingly cute. He puzzled over the difference between jelly and jam like it friggin' _mattered_ , he'd done that awkward charming smile thing when a random baby had waved his direction, and he'd insisted on picking up both a card to send to Claire and a small bouquet of flowers for Eileen.

 _Jeez, what a sap_ , Dean had thought, knowing he was disgustingly in love with the guy.

“Get those _off_ ,” Cas demanded now, shoving impatiently at Dean's boxers.

“Fine, _okay_.” Dean snorted a laugh and shoved them down, stumbling out of his underwear. Finally, yes, they were both naked. ...Almost, anyway. He still had his shirt half-on, unbuttoned and dangling around his shoulders. Cas was completely stripped bare and already barnacle-ing onto Dean again, pulling him back. God, he was possessive and Dean loved every bit of it.

And then there was the car washing...

Oh, man.

Dean knew there might have been some trouble there, so he'd mentally prepared himself for that, but good _god_ , he'd still been taken by surprise.

No, it hadn't been the “Cas in a tight wet T-shirt” image he'd been anticipating that had gotten him. Cas had worn a loose shirt, and while it did get wet, it was a deep blue shade that didn't exactly turn sheer and tease previews of his nipples or anything (not like Dean hadn't seen them before, but still).

And it hadn't been the stereotypical image of his boyfriend kneeling over to wash one of the tires, ass out as they both ended up more and more drenched in the water, the way so many car-washing scenes portrayed. (Somehow whenever Cas was kneeling, Dean was on the other side of Baby or getting more soap or water, so he never got that nice view. Dammit.)

It was how carefully, how gingerly Cas had tended to the small details: Baby's headlights, the grille, the side-view mirrors. Picking up the windshield wipers as if they were made of tissue paper and cleaning them and the area around more cautiously than _Dean_ did, hell.

It was the way he sat in the driver's seat as they moved on to washing the inside windows, wiping the driver's-side window, crooning “There you go, hon... All better...” Dean hadn't realized at first that Cas was talking to Baby until he looked over from cleaning his side of the inside windshield. And Cas was faced away from him, concentrating on the car with affection that had been steadily growing for the last few weeks, Dean realized.

Dean had shaken his head. What a _jackass_ , he'd mused with a grin, his chest tightening.

Naturally he'd barely been able to resist jumping him until they were both out of the car. (Hey, they'd just _cleaned_ it, he didn't wanna make it a mess all over again with soapy shirts— among other stuff...) And then he'd pinned Cas up against the nearest wall, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Once they'd paused for air and Cas had caught enough breath, he'd easily broken Dean's hold and spun them around, shifting their positions so Dean was the one with nowhere to go, the fire and power in his eyes no less intimidating now than when he was an angel.

It was embarrassing how fast Dean had come that afternoon, and how smug Cas had been about it.

God, he hoped he'd last a little longer this time.

They hadn't needed lube during their little tryst in the garage since they'd only been going handsies, but cleaning up in the bathroom afterward, Dean had realized it wouldn't be a bad idea to be prepared in case there was a next time.

Not that they made it a habit of, uh, contaminating every room in the Bunker, but hey. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

So with a grateful thought of appreciation to his earlier self, Dean knelt now and retrieved the condom and little packet of lube in the back pocket of his discarded jeans.

Cas clung to him just this side of too-tightly as Dean worked him open, teasing him with the slow stretch. “Hurry up,” Cas groaned, breathing heavy into his neck.

“So demanding,” Dean chuckled. He added a third lubed finger, widening, circling. “I wanna make it good for y—”

“I'll do it _myself_ if you don't get on with it,” Cas ordered through gritted teeth, pressing bruises into Dean's shoulders. Irresistibly bossy. Dean loved it.

And how they got here to begin with...

It was ridiculous. How, exactly, could _laundry_ be a turn-on?

Damn Cas. Cas, always a step out of touch with everyone else, and not only because of the angel/ angel-turned-human thing, either. It was so endearing.

When Dean washed clothes, it was simple and straightforward: throw the clothes in, turn the machine on, done.

But when he'd walked in here, side by side with Cas and the sheets and the other laundry, his damn boyfriend had gone a step further. They'd tossed their dirty laundry in the machines, and Dean had been about to turn the washer on, when Cas had randomly started taking his clothes off and throwing them in too.

Dean had looked at him in confusion, and Cas shrugged. “These need cleaned, too, and it's the end of the day,” he said simply. He'd kept his underwear on and started to leave, as if going for their room. But his complete obliviousness, lack of care for the way things were usually done and IDGAF attitude about it—welp, that had done it.

That, and Cas's being conveniently nearly-naked. That had helped too.

Dean figured Cas was prepped enough now. He reached for the condom from where he'd tossed it onto the table next to Cas's hip with the lube packet, and ripped the foil open with his teeth. Deftly, he rolled it on and grabbed the lube, squeezing out the rest of it to coat his cock as best he could. “Okay...”

He wiped his hand on the bottom of his shirt before stripping it off ( _mental note: wash this shirt soon too_ ) and hiked Cas's legs up higher. “Ready?”

The look Cas gave him was _so_ worth the pointless question.

Dean grinned and reached down to guide himself forward.

Cas closed his eyes and exhaled as Dean pressed in. “It's about _time_ ,” he muttered, but the edge of anger in his way-too-sexy voice had been replaced with fondness and satisfaction. The urgentness of his grip on Dean's back and shoulder had relaxed a little, grown gentler now that he was finally getting what he wanted.

“God, you're toppy for a bottom,” Dean teased. He was in as far as he could go now, or he'd have stopped just to dick (ha) with Cas some more.

“You and your labels.” Cas squeezed around him, both with his legs and arms – still entwined, octopus-like, around Dean's thighs and torso respectively – and with the muscles in his body as well, warm and welcoming and safe as always.

Dean had to fight _real_ hard right then not to keep from making this even more embarrassingly short than their adventure in the garage that afternoon. “Jee— Dammit, Cas.” He waited a moment until Cas let go a little, then slid halfway out.

Cas made up for it by trailing his fingertips down Dean's back ever so lightly in that half-caressing, half-tickling way that he knew Dean loved. “Sorry,” he murmured, not sounding the least bit apologetic as he kissed his way up until he met Dean's lips again.

 _Sorry for what?_ All coherent thought had flown out of Dean's mind. Mmmm. Moving now, both of them rocking together. Nothing like this.

Dean could barely focus with how Cas was kissing him, giving as good as he took. Goddamn. Did he do that stroking thing with his tongue on purpose? Wait, why was he breaking off now, unless— Yes, he _was_ , he was sucking a finger into his mouth. That meant _something good_ was happening soon!

Dean actually whined in anticipation as Cas popped his finger free, gazed at him knowingly, and resumed his attack on Dean's lips and tongue.

And _oh_ , his hand going down his back, lower, lower and—

“Right there, yeah,” Dean groaned, pushing back in at the precise perfect timing that Cas was getting friendly with his backside. “Yeah, babe, ju—”

If Dean was honest with himself, even in his best relationships and greatest one-night-stands he'd always had plenty of wank material leftover. Never any fantasies to run out of.

Well, he wasn't exactly in danger of running out of them now— it was just that Cas was _surpassing_ them so much that there was no point anymore. All his fantasies now consisted of his own awesome boyfriend.

No, Cas wasn't exactly the absolute best at everything. Dean had had partners exceed him. It was the combination of “great sex” and “actual favorite partner,” he was pretty sure.

He loved this, loved Cas, loved everything about their being together, and it was so ridiculously domestic and _perfect_ and it should be a little embarrassing but it wasn't, it was just right. It was everything they should have been doing all along, should have been all along, but hey, better late than never, so fuck it, who cared?

“Dean, shut up,” Cas muttered, and Dean didn't even realize he'd been talking. He hoped he hadn't been saying too much, but Cas never minded much, so it was okay, he supposed.

Cas clenched around him again, and Dean uttered a strangled shout. “God! You—you gotta quit doing that, I—I'm not gonna last—”

“Get out of your head and _in_ me,” Cas ordered him in that _obey or else_ tone.

Dean nodded. “Okay. Okay—”

“No talking anymore, either.” Cas put his free hand over Dean's mouth and glared at him, but there was a definite trace of flirtation in his dilated blue eyes.

Well, fine, if that was how it was gonna be...

Dean stepped somehow closer _still_ , cramming his body even tighter up against both Cas's and the table. He took one of Cas's legs and propped it up over his shoulder. Thought of saying something like “Get closer” or “Come over here” but he wasn't sure how serious Cas was about the no-talking thing.

He picked up the pace, driving in rapid-fire, and only hitting Cas's prostate occasionally at first.

At first.

The more Cas held onto him and the tighter his grip on Dean's skin got, the more accurately Dean aimed. When Cas started to lose his control on the profanities, Dean knew he was getting close. (He'd be _really_ going over the edge when he started in with the F-bombs...)

“Shit—shit, Dean, I'm going t-to—”

He grinned and figured he'd risk talking.

“I know, Cas, same here, I'm cl—”

And then it happened.

He heard something at the door. _Oh, no way in hell..._

Cas abruptly stopped moving and closed his eyes, dropping his head onto Dean's shoulder. The beloved finger in Dean's ass stopped mid-motion.

And the energy in the room dive-bombed. Faaaaantastic.

Dean knew without bothering to look behind him.

Yup. Once again.

“...Sorry, Sam.”

After a moment or two, Cas lifted his head. “He's gone. Dropped some laundry... We should probably throw it in the washer for him, at least.”

“Third time this week,” Dean sighed, running his hands up and down along Cas's sweat-soaked sides and back. “Fuck.”

“Mmm-hmm. We're getting careless.”

Dean nodded. “We're idiots.”

Cas pressed tiny little kisses into the side of Dean's neck. “Or we're in love.”

“Six of one...”

Cas half-heartedly punched his bicep.

“Just messing with you.” Dean grinned as Cas struggled to hold a serious expression. It quickly dissolved into a soft chuckle, and then somehow they were kissing once more instead of laughing, and _whoa_ , they were right back into it so much easier than he'd thought they would be...

-

Eileen knelt on the floor, playing with Oscar. _What a good dog_ , she thought with a smile. They'd gotten him a few months ago, and she was so glad they had—Sam been so adorably happy the day they went home with him (and every day after, really).

“Awww, are you a good boy?” she asked, signing as she spoke before she pet Oscar. “Good boy!” They – she, mostly, but Sam was catching up! — were working on teaching him a few basic signs. He didn't seem to learn them _super_ well like he had a few other things, but he showed definite interest, and she wasn't about to give up.

After a while, she felt subtle vibrations through the floor, growing closer and closer. Eileen looked up, waiting, and a moment later Sam walked back into the kitchen.

He was pale, and clearly trying to hide his annoyance and irritation. But he smiled at her as she got to her feet and came closer. “Hey,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes. “What happened?”

“How do you _do_ that?” he asked, signing and speaking simultaneously.

Eileen shook her head. “You're an open book, Winchester. So what is it?”

“It's—Not important.” Sam took his seat, stared at the food, and then got right up again. “Uh, you know what?” he said, glancing from the leftovers to her. “I'm actually full.”

“Okay... That's fine.” Eileen started gathering up the food and empty dishes. She hid a smile as they cleared the table, put everything away, scraped the plates into the trash.

As they wandered down the hall toward their room, she took his hand in hers, her ring pressing against his too-big moose fingers. “So. Third time this week, huh?”

Sam hung his head, hair sweeping forward in front of his face.

Oscar trotted ahead of them happily, tail wagging.

 


End file.
